


Strange Little Town

by neverwheredreamer (clutzycricket)



Series: Strange Little Town [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Closet Sex, Crossover Pairings, Multi, No Smut, Preshipping, Protective Siblings, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:19:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/neverwheredreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories from a strange little town called Westeros.</p><p>(AKA my Not-a-Night-Vale-or-Full-Monty AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Drunk Texts

"Well," Jon said finally, “we knew that Tyrion and Shae’s honeymoon would be interesting."

Sansa snickered, remembering Garlan mentioning the Iron Man condoms he’d snuck in their luggage. “As interesting as the wedding, though?" Nothing, she decided, would be as funny as Tywin Lannister being  _frogmarched_  out of his son’s wedding. By Mr Martell and her father. (She was mostly certain that Mr. Martell had only attended to get that chance. Well, that and making sure that Willas didn’t get kidnapped by the Queen of Elfland. Again.)

"They aren’t on the news," Jaime, who was taking stock of the alcohol, muttered.  Rhaenys, his cobartender, was hauling things up from the basement, which made no sense to anyone except those who knew she had excellent night-sight. She cackled, the noise coming up from the trapdoor.

"Yet," Brienne the bouncer added as she walked in. Tyrion, pointing out that having male bouncers in the same place as a male strip club was probably a recipe for disaster, had borrowed Brienne from Sansa’s mum after she’d retired from Mayoring. He’d also hired Ygritte and Val, who gleefully enjoyed tormenting Jon. 

Sometimes Sansa wondered how Tyrion’s mad plan, concocted when he was drunk and Jaime depressed, was still running a year later. But then again, Westeros was a weird town.

"I live in hope, wench," Jaime called back. 

"Just drunk texts so far," Jon said. He looked at Jaime’s phone again. “They wouldn’t really…"

"There haven’t been any calls for bail," Sansa said. Somehow she’d gotten stuck dealing with that job after the  _last_  incident. Which she had refused, though she noticed Lannisters had an endless capacity for self-delusion.

"Oh, our sweet Disney Princess," Rhaenys said from the trapdoor, curls poking out after Jaime snagged the box from her hands. "It'll come. It'll come."

Jaime looked tempted to defend his brother's honor, but thought better of it, which Sansa was minded to chalk up to progress. Or perhaps the strange friendship the bartenders had.


	2. Prompt: Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Tyrion Stages An Intervention

Jaime woke up freezing.  Wet and fucking freezing.

Probably because someone had dumped him in his tub. He heard Tyrion laughing somewhere not too far away, which didn’t bode well. 

And once he stopped choking water, a familiar face was watching him in amusement. “Alright there, Prince Charming?"

"Fine, little hellcat," he told Rhaenys. Jesus, he’d  _babysat_  her as a teenager. When did his pain in the ass next door neighbor grow up? “I’m breathing, which is better than I was."

"You smell like cheap beer," she pointed out with that vague helpfulness that usually meant trouble. “And you’ve managed to get light enough Jon and I can carry you." 

"Yeah, well, not much else to do," he pointed out, trying to get up and cursing his fucking arm for not being able to do anything. 

"Because you don’t want to do anything," Jon said, solemn and diasapproving. Who invited Stark’s mini-me, anyway? 

"We can help, brother," Tyrion said, going serious. Which normally terrified Jaime, but the annoyance was still winning out over anything else.

"Are you giving me an intervention?" he asked, blinking water out of his eyes in surprise. 

"Well…" Rhaenys and Jon looked at each other before she spoke up, “Tyrion and I are. Myrcella is still in school for a week, and Cersei is kind of throwing her own pity party. Jon’s just muscle."

"He’s quiet," Tyrion said with a look, sitting on the toilet as if Jaime wasn’t still dripping in a tub of ice-cold bathwater. “And I didn’t think Father should be involved."

"Hence me being within a five block radius," Rhaenys muttered, rubbing her ragged ear.

"What do you propose I do?" Jaime asked.

Jon flushed, and Tyrion raised his eyebrows.

“ _Well…_ ”


	3. Prompt: Befriend Me

##  [Prompt: Befriend Me](http://neverwheredreamer.tumblr.com/post/54708453042/prompt-befriend-me)

Rhaenys knew Jaime was a little odd after coming home from Interpol with a hand that didn’t quite work.

After all, she’d helped dump him in a freezing bathtub after he’d drunk himself senseless. 

And he’d taken up a job bartending at the Rock Club- and she was never, ever letting Tyrion name anything ever again. She’d taken the cobartending job mostly because she was a horrible troll who found the whole idea hilarious and wanted to see how it panned out. (She’d also promised to keep Loras out of trouble.)

She wondered if that was why Jaime had come to her with this harebrained scheme.

 

"You want to write a novel?" she asked, carefully not showing any expression. That seemed to challenge him, a hint of that old jackassery he’d picked up somewhere surfacing.

"Yes? I mean, look at the some of the shit that gets published. How hard can it be?" he asked. “I just can’t type."

Rhaenys was about to point out the multitude of speech to text programs out there- hell, she’d done coding for one of them. She wanted to point out that it wasn’t that easy.

But this could be fun.

"Sounds interesting," she admitted. “What about?"

And Jaime started talking, and Rhaenys grabbed her notepad, writing in her dad’s version of shorthand, occasionally stopping to push up the wire-rimmed glasses she’d needed after the Accident and then ask questions. (And make suggestions.)

She didn’t comment on how much the hero, who was recently wounded and on a quest to set things right, reminded her of Jaime- it was probably partially her fault, for sticking the Prince Charming nickname on him. (But she’d been _six_! She hadn't even known what a trebuchet was back then.) She also decided not to think at all about the possible origins of the snarky blonde princess the hero wanted to rescue. (Tyrion was either going to love or hate his role as the student wizard who routinely pulled the hero out of trouble.)

And it kind of just… grew from there. The hero picked up a quiet antiquarian who was certainly not Rhaenys at Jaime’s suggestion, and there was growing arch plot that Rhaenys pointed out, making room for more.

Jaime came up with the penname, and Rhaenys was responsible for trying to sort out the publishing process. And it kept going- Jaime’s half-amused, half-bitter tone seemed to strike a chord in people, and Rhaenys’ eye for continuity seemed to keep it coherent.

Then they started leaving post-its for each other.

At Jaime’ suggestion, the merry band picked up a lady warrior, on a quest of her own that occasionally clashed with the heroes. (And Rhaenys explained “shipping" to Jaime, who looked longingly at the bottle of rum on his counter as she started making a chart.) 

Rhaenys added the Archivist, a lady with a quiet sense of humor, and her mad alchemist brother. (And started watching the TVTropes page fill.)

Jaime wickedly suggested that they add a King’s Justice, a solemn rigid man nicknamed “Old Stoneface". Rhaenys added his two bickering daughters, appearances changed enough to throw off suspicions.

Then they saw Sansa carrying one of the books, and started laughing. No one quite wanted to ask why. (They did supply their own answers, but never got confirmation.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, at one point the trebuchet joke will be explained, having little to do with canon. Mostly.


	4. Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day Sansa will stop being frazzled by Tyrion's stunts.
> 
> Today is not that day.

## Seeing calm, poised Sansa Stark off-kilter was either tremendously worrying or tremendously hilarious, Willas decided. 

Right now, he was going to go for hilarious. No one was dead. (Yet. Sansa might kill Tyrion before she left.)

"I don’t see why I  _suddenly_  need to do this, on less than a day’s notice,” Sansa rambled, attempting to pin her hair up for the fifth time. “I hardly have time to edit the speaker’s notes I wrote for him, much less review properly for any questions I need to answer.”

Willas nodded, looking for his cane. He swore it was somewhere close at hand… They’d been a bit distracted last night, and this morning.

Well, until Tyrion called. (Perhaps Willas would kill Tyrion. Garlan would help. Or Margaery.)

"Sansa, sweetling, you forgot something important," he pointed out. 

Sansa looked up at him, blue eyes wide and partially made up. “What?” she practically wailed. 

Thanking whoever was listening for Marg’s Crash Course on Sansa Stark, Overachiever of the Millennium, he continued, “You wrote Tyrion’s speech, you did the research, and you most likely know more about the subject than the rum-soaked demon who happens to be your boss.”

Still a  _bit_  bitter about Tyrion’s timing, yeah.

"Yes, but he didn’t give me TIME!" Sansa pointed out. "I have next to no preparation time, no time to pack, and have to leave town for three days at very nearly a moment’s notice."

"And we will plan horrible revenge later," Willas promised, pulling his cane from halfway under the bed and ignoring the twinges of retribution and penance. "Get dressed, you have garment bags in the closet. Pick two outfits for work, three for casual. Pack toiletries from that cosmetic store you call a medicine cabinet, and you will be fine. Understood?"

"Yes, but the paperwork…" Sansa’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, that… that… _Lannister_! He must have known I was going from the very start, otherwise all of the conference paperwork would be in his name, and this wouldn't work.”

"Could he do that?" Willas asked, bemused by her sudden shift in mood. (Also by the fact that his fiancee and best friend spat out that surname like a curse.)

He hooked his trousers from the bedpost, pulling them towards him.

"Oh, almost all of it was electronic, and I made him handle his own emails a while back," said a very irritated children’s librarian. "He could, if he was sufficiently sneaky."

"We shall have terrifying revenge," Willas promised. "You can ask your sister for help."

Sansa laughed. “I will, you know.”

Willas nodded. “And rebutton your shirt.” He smirked and tilted his head. “A scarf might also be a good idea.” He tapped the back of his neck and watched Sansa sigh.

"You could use an illusion, since it is your fault," she pointed out, suddenly much calmer as she rebuttoned the dark blue blouse.

Willas nodded. “I could even hide more of them, if you so wish?” 

Perhaps he’d spent a bit too much time with the fairies. (Or agreeably watching the sort of movie a young Marg had liked.)

Sansa glared. “Not today, Tyrell. Today, I have to find my other shoe.”


	5. 5 People and Their Closets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wardrobe choices and personality. (Prompt from Fuckyeahcharacterdevelopment)

1.) Rhaenys treated clothes like armor- on certain days, helping Sirius, Gendry, and Arya restore Mott’s old garage, she wore the same ripped jeans and holey t-shirts as them, steel toed-boots for when Arya overestimated her strength. Working at the club meant red tops and dark skinny jeans, with chucks and minimal make-up. (Tyrion had tried to make it closer to Lannister crimson, rather than the artierial blood shade that she preferred.) Programming gigs meant flared jackets and pencil skirts, unless she was working for either American Stark. (Tony was too likely to rope him in for a messy project, while being in Eureka meant wearing street clothes with sensible shoes.) She preferred her street clothes with odd sleeves and boatnecks that covered most of the scars. (And robes- she has a gorgeous deep blue waterfall pattern that Leonette gave her one Christmas, and a short orange one that makes Sirius’ eyes follow her.)

 

2.)  Arya owns two bright and colorful tops- one is a permanent loan from Rhaenys, a cherry-red t-shirt with a cartoon Cthulhu, saying “Why vote for the lesser evil?” It’s from the year that Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister ran as Mayor, and Brienne and Edmure managed to get her mother elected as write-in candidate. She suspects one of the Martells ordered them, because a lot of people were wearing them last year.

The other is a shiny purple button-up with dark grey buttons, from Sansa last Christmas. Sansa had told her that she would need for uni or interviews, and this saved her the horrors of shopping. (She’d been doing the not-laughing thing their father liked to do when Arya was in trouble for something fun, so Arya didn’t yell.)

She ignored how Ned Dayne said he liked the colors.

3.) Someone had once told Sansa that grey looked good on redheads. She’d done some experiments and googling before deciding that was mostly true, and adding it to the list of colors she could wear. (Yes, she had a list- whatever Arya liked to think, she disliked spending hours wandering aimlessly for one or two things as much as her younger sister did.)

So she had a list of colors and cuts and fabrics that she carried around in her head, and had earned a good deal of pocket money doing the same for other girls, especially when formal occasions came up.

So sometimes she despaired of Arya’s choice of clothing sometimes, and made a point of picking up something whenever she needed to get her sister a present. (Well, that and something small Arya would admit to needing- like a woodworking kit, or climbing gloves in colors that weren’t neon yellow.)

4.) Sirius liked muggle clothes- they made life easier. (Like riding a motorbike. And fighting. Harder to dodge properly in formal robes, as many a family holiday had taught him growing up.) 

So finding himself in a little muggle town in another universe, he’d taken to muggle clothing. Some of it was work clothes- he liked helping with the garage, and maybe he could bring Harry and Remus over, live over it. 

But part of him, the part who still got twitchy on cold nights and hated the sight of mist, insisted on comfortable clothes. Comfortable and nice, and the absolute opposite of the prison robes he’d worn for twelve years.

5.) Jon wore black and grey clothing. It wasn’t out of a deliberate fashion statement or anything.

It’s just what he bought, he said with a shrug. He didn’t give much thought to it.


	6. Prompt: Bye Bye Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and tasting the rainbow (vodka)

Of all the people Jaime expected to see in the Rock Club on an otherwise slow Sunday evening, Brienne Tarth wasn’t one of them. 

Brienne storming through the club and ignoring the dancers, including a half-naked Renly Baratheon, was also unexpected. Jaime had thought that she would probably be blushing and trying not to stare.

Then again, Jaime wasn’t always the best judge of character, was he? But Brienne had struck him as absurdly good and innocent. Seeing her here was a bit strange.

"I need to get very drunk, and I need to do it somewhere that Ronnie Connington will never dare come in," Brienne told him, blue eyes hard.

 

"Care to taste the rainbow, then?" Jaime asked with his best filthy grin. 

Brienne blinked. “…Er…”

Congratulating himself on derailing Brienne’s rage with a single sentence, he explained. “It’s something Renly and Sansa came up with- seven skittles vodka shots.” He shrugged. “And seven shots of water, so some of our lightweights or idiots don’t collapse.”

"Oh," Brienne thought about it. "But it would get me drunk?"

Jaime wondered how often Brienne had gotten drunk before. “Normally, I’d say yes, Amazon, but in this case I’d recommend adding something else- may I suggest Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash?” 

Brienne’s smile was evil. “I’d take that damn last to Red Ronnie right now…”

"It’s flavored liqueur," Jaime told her. "Calm your righteous fury and tell me what happened, wench." He got out the shot glasses- he didn’t actually get to make this that often- Arya Stark and her friend Loreza had shared it on one of their birthdays, and Rhaenys had slammed them down one day when her father came to town, but usually it was a treat for parties, or someone just ordering them in one color.

"There was a bloody bet," Brienne scowled. "About who could fuck me without throwing up. His own words, actually, though he didn’t know I was there."

Jaime looked at Brienne, who certainly wasn’t Cersei. He looked over the counter at Brienne’s legs, which were admittedly magnificent.

"I probably shouldn’t make one of my normal cracks right now," Jaime observed. "Though Connington is an idiot and the skirt is very nice. I think Martell is checking out the bits covered by it. Tyrion definitely was, which Shae never needs to know."

Brienne blushed furiously, then slammed back the red vodka. “I wanted to surprise him,” she protested. “It was supposed to be…”

"When he won the bet?" Jaime noticed a very flustered Ron Connington enter the bar, and an evil plan started taking place in his mind.

He’d never liked him anyway, and Tyrion hadn’t yelled at him in ages.

"What’s your poison?" He asked as Brienne started sipping her first water.

"I wanted to talk to Brienne," he protested. 

"I will throw you out if you talk to her right now," Jaime said, lounging against the counter to hide his prosthetic hand. "Or Obara will. And Obara will throw you out over the ditch."

Brienne stood up and glared down at Connington. “Leave me  _alone_.”

"Here?" Connington must have realized he was shouting, or maybe he saw how furious Brienne was. "Here, right, leaving."

Brienne waited until he left before slamming down the orange, yellow, and green shots without stopping for water. 

"He doesn’t deserve you," Jaime said without thinking. Brienne blinked up at him.

"He was the only one interested," Brienne scowled, arms folded to hold up her chest.

Jaime opened his mouth then shut it. 


	7. Choice (Shireen, Bran)

Shireen looked around the woods surrounding Oldstones, adjusting her grip on the blasting rod ‘Bella had made for her last Christmas. 

She was not terribly good with the outdoors, but even she knew the warning signs of an incursion.

"Bran?" she didn’t bother looking behind as Bran made a questioning noise deep in his throat, too enthralled by the remnants of magic use and the signs of some creepy fairy working to notice the fact that the temperature had gone down twenty degrees and that there was no wildlife sounds.

Summer pawed at the ground and let out a whine. Shireen skritched his ears, wishing she had a jacket. Or a sword, though that would only really be useful if she knew how to use one. Bran was more of a Knight than her, really, and when dealing with incursions Bran was the researcher to her sorceress.

The wind was blowing from the north, and even if they had two hours until dusk, Shireen knew better than to put her faith in daylight anymore. Oldstones was nothing but ruins, a moldering cemetery and wild roses.

She still waited until the little puddles near the river were starting to freeze, and then she picked Bran up by his collar, ignoring his protests. “We have to go. Now.”

Bran looked around, moving to draw the sword from his back. (Guns only worked with SI’s Cherry PIE rounds and headshots, Mr. Martell had said, slathering his arm with Reverend Cat’s salve after he limped into Winterfell last year. Since that was better than their previous results, they took it as a good sign, but no one wanted to place their face on it.)

"Water, fire, stone," Bran murmured. "Shireen, how far is…"

"Half a mile north," Shireen muttered darkly. "Riverrun House is about a mile south, but we can’t follow the river."

Bran nodded. “That would lead us straight to Harroway Square, which is exactly what we don’t want” he agreed, and Shireen took it as a trick of the light that his eyes took on an unnaturally green hue. “Just a moment, though.”

Shireen watched as Bran tossed some silver charms on the ground. “We’ll trap them for the dawn?” He said with a puckish grin. “Then…”

"Run screaming like Uncle Robert confronted with responsibility?" Shireen had turned the twinges of anger- at her family, at her greyscale, at being perfect golden Myrcella’s shadow- into humor long ago. She had her health, she had her wits, and she had an incredibly puzzling boyfriend to sort out.

Bran chuckled as she threw a quick binding spell over the surviving archways, keeping an eye out for a hint of fog.


	8. Prompt: Claustrophilia (Aegon/Margaery, Rhaenys)

Aegon went  _meep_.

Margaery had to stifle a grin at that, watching her blue-haired, overly pierced punk boyfriend turn the color of a burnt tomato and try to hide behind the burly police officer.

"Dammit, there’s a reason I called Jon," he muttered, watching his sister walk over to them. 

Rhaenys, Marg decided, had the best skeptical look she had ever seen, possibly barring Grandmother Olenna. It was something to with her eyebrows. “Tyrell, I’m really doubting your tastes right now.”

"I had a bit of fun," Margaery said, ignoring Aegon’s sputtering. 

"In a broom closet?" Rhaenys jerked her head towards Aegon, who was deeply entertaining the officer he was  _still_  trying to hide behind. “With this one?”

"I am plenty of fun," Aegon said, sulking a bit. "I am all of the fun."

"Perhaps somewhere with more room," Margaery allowed, reflecting on the unexpected benefits of a well-placed tongue piercing.

"Just not on public property, you two," Rhaenys said. "Seriously, I’ve done enough of that, your body hates you later."

Aegon sputtered again.


	9. Yugos and Firecrackers

"I did tell you," Rhaenys pointed out. She looked utterly solemn, if you ignored the persistent twitching of her mouth. One day Tony was going to take her to a poker game, preferably when Justin Hammer was playing. 

"It’s a Yugo, Firecracker," Tony said, already anime eyes wide in horror. "These should be retroactively erased from creation. Don’t you have Doctor Who to do that, or are we too far from Cardiff?"

Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “It’s going to snow tonight.” She looked at the sky. “Benjen says it should be over a foot.”

"What does that have to do with… what did you do to the wheels?” Tony poked it, looking from engineer to car in a way normally reserved for Hammer products.

"We made a super-sled," Rhaenys said dryly. "To get us over the snow and ice while the Starks all bask in their rightness over the shitiness of Westerosi winter. Now, help me attach the damn plow."


	10. Drink Me

Tyrion rubbed his hands together, watching the girls and his brother at the bar.

Sansa and Arianne were chatting warily. Well, warily for them. His children’s librarian slash assistant extraordinare was giving a warmer version of her show smile, carefully pinned red curls one head shake from falling over her face.  Arianne was leaning forward with her shoulders folded in, something she probably didn’t recognize she was doing.

"Which one do you think has better…" Shae sounded properly amused, at least.

“ _Freckles_ ,” Tyrion interrupted, a touch more dreamily than he intended. But the pretty white peasant blouse… Shae poked him with a stirrer. 

Rhaenys and Jaime were talking, the scary-pretty programmer coaxing Jaime into animation. Rhaenys turned to look at them, with her skeptical eyebrows in place. “Are we planning drinks or what?”

"The skittles vodka thing?" Sansa asked curiously. Tyrion waved his list around. 

"Already there, Stark," he said. 

"Can we do chocolate screwdrivers?" Arianne asked. "I’ve always meant to try making them." Tyrion thought about it.

"We should be tasting these, shouldn’t we? We need lots of girly drinks," he said.

"Girly drinks?" Shae asked. "I’m sorry,  _who_  drinks cosmos in this relationship?”

Sansa at least tried not to smile. 

"You do know I hang out with Tony Stark, right?" Rhaenys pointed out.

"Hanging out?" Tyrion waggled his eyebrows. He and the Greyjoy boy had a bet running on what exactly that friendship was about. Had been about. Whatever.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m really surprised this is place won’t have female dancers.”

"I’m trying to get Jaime to dance," he said brightly. 

Arianne and Sansa looked at Jaime speculatively.


End file.
